*tosses her hair back over her shoulders and straightens a few loose pieces herself, perhaps a bit perfunctorily (when she knows very well that windblown hair utterly suits her)*
*doesn't have to encourage Jingle to mosey along with Unspeak, and though she's mostly come to terms with that strange, strange language falling from your lips, she can't help but give her mare curious glances—even as Jingle replies, amused as ever: [Some of us were bred to mountainous terrain, flatlander. Try to keep up!]*
*to you, all unaware* Define "interesting", Tyelcormo? I've never been one for too many close encounters with nature. *wry smile* Nature tends to come with teeth. (But then, so do we.)